


Sugaring

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Deadpool References, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Québec, Stucky - Freeform, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7293541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every morning, Steve sets out from the little cabin to tend to their maple trees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugaring

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to [Nice Day, Bucky!](http://nicedaybucky.tumblr.com/post/146106566458/22-hello-from-the-other-side-finally-properly) for being inspired to sketch Bucky's iconic lumberjack look, which in turn gave rise to this little story. Knowing absolutely bugger all about lumberjackery, I took it in a slightly more sweet direction.

It was a routine they settled into fairly quickly, as soon as early spring had just begun to turn the days back to temperatures just above freezing, and one they would continue over the next few weeks until the nights grew too warm. Steve dutifully trudged out through their little thicket of maples, hanging buckets from each newly-tapped spout, and collecting them up once they were well-filled with sweet sap.

Bucky was already building a good fire by the time Steve had hauled all the sap back to the cabin. The real skill in this work was vigilance. Bucky would watch and stir as the sap boiled into syrup, growing thick and richly amber brown, mindful never to let the syrup boil over - well, not after the first time, when it did.

"We've had a good haul today," said Steve, tipping in the last of the sap to bring up to the boil.

"You know, Stevie," Bucky observed, slowly dragging the heavy spoon through the pale liquid, as bubbles of heat began to simmer around its periphery, "we're gonna have an awful lot of this stuff by the end of this year's run. What will we do with all of it?"

Steve thought about it a moment.

"Pancakes?" he suggested.

Of all the strange places to find themselves in, a rustic, sweet little cabin in Québec, with warm blankets and a little kitchen, and - it turned out - the resources for producing a cottage industry's worth of luscious, aromatic maple syrup. When Wade had suggested to them he had a "sugar shack" they were welcome to use as a little holiday home, Steve had envisioned something rather less, well, wholesome.

"Enough pancakes for everyone we know," Bucky mused. "And that's after we've given Wade his share of the harvest. How many bottles?"

"Just twelve," said Steve, curling his arms around Bucky's waist. "It's going to be fun getting all of this back to New York."

Bucky let out a soft laugh in agreement. Steve had scarcely seen him so relaxed since they had been reunited - and what was more, he looked far more beautiful in a checked flannel shirt than anyone had a right to. Sometimes, they would dance in the kitchen to the CBC radio: it was in dance, more often than anywhere else, that Steve would forget his size for a moment, treading on toes as badly as he had when he was much smaller, and Bucky would throw his hands in exasperation, declaring him a hopeless case. He seemed to mind it less now that Steve was a lousy dancer. Alone, in a tiny kitchen among the maple trees, there was no one to judge his left feet.

"Do you miss it?" asked Bucky, after a long, comfortable silence. Steve did not need to ask what he meant.

"No," said Steve; a reflex, but on reflection, "and yeah. I mean, I have these skills, Buck, this... power. If I'm not making use of them, to help people... isn't that my duty?" 

"You've done so much, Steve," replied Bucky. Steve rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder, watching the syrup darken slowly as it drew closer to the boil. "It's okay to let somebody else do some of the heavy lifting for a while. Maybe a long while. Are you happy?"

Steve sighed, then smiled. "Yeah, I am," he said. "What about you? Are you happy? Are you bored yet?"  
"We're ten minutes' drive from town, and the cabin's got wifi," said Bucky, pulling the spoon from the softly bubbling liquid, watching its consistency as it dripped back into the pot. "And I've got you. I could do this every year."

"Yeah?" asked Steve.

"Yeah," said Bucky. "I could get used to this. I could be a regular sugar daddy. Whaddya say, punk?"

"Bucky, just... no."

"Love you too, Steve."

**Author's Note:**

> [(also on tumblr here)](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/146420827061/so-it-turns-out-i-was-such-an-admirer-of)


End file.
